The Inferiority Complex
by LiechLiet
Summary: Romulus Vargas tells the story of his eldest grandson to a doctor, in attempt to work out why Lovino is the way he is. / Oneshot, AU.


**My inner psychologist loves Lovino. I've never really tried this style of writing before, neither have I written first person Grandpa Rome. Lovino and Felicano's parents are OCs, obviously. The doctor is Julian Koller, the doctor I created for 'Breaking Apart' (which I urge you to read!) and I am now using in this AU.**

**I am an AU machine.**

**Enjoy!**

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_Name of patient:_ Lovino Vargas

_Age:_ 11 years

_Nationality:_ Italian, British (dual nationality)

_Diagnosis:_ Anger management problems, possible inferiority complex

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_Name:_ Romulus Vargas

_Age:_ 59

_Nationality:_ Italian

_Relationship to patient:_ Maternal grandfather

_Please describe your history with the patient below_

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Well, where do I begin? Lovino's birth would be a good place! But no, before that. I'll tell you about his parents, and everything will come after. It all started in Italy. My daughter fell pregnant by her boyfriend at twenty. They rushed into marriage so that there would be as little shame as possible, and the baby was born in due course. And that was when the trouble started.

Lovino was a screamer, one of those babies who cry whenever they aren't eating or sleeping. His parents responded very badly to that. Lovino was bottle-fed from day one, they held him as little as possible – and even then, with arms outstretched, leaving his legs dangling in the air, kicking furiously – and they complained bitterly. They were too young, too immature to deal with it. So after about six months, I think? Seven? – she begged me to take Lovino for a few weeks. So that her and her husband could repair their marriage, she said, which was on the verge of collapse. I love Lovino, but I could believe that.

She was going to call him Romano, you know! After his wonderful Nonno! But I said maybe it wasn't the best idea. I've found that when one is named after a family member, especially one that the family have memories of, they are constantly compared to their namesake. I didn't wish that my grandchild would be compared to anyone. Unfortunately, it ended up happening anyway.

But back to the story! She brought him to my house one morning, with his little bag, and dumped him in the living room with some toy bricks before sitting at my table and weeping. He was so hard to manage, she kept saying, she wished she had never had him. I could sympathise, but I kept thinking, how can you say something like that about your own son? Especially an infant who probably finds it just as difficult as you do! All I could do was give her coffee and make comforting noises in the right places. She needed to vent. She left my house happier than I had seen her in a long time.

Now, I'm not going to lie here, Lovino was a handful. I owned a restaurant, lovely authentic Italian food, but I wasn't so involved in the daily running, so I could take enough leave and work from home often enough to look after Lovino – enrol him in nursery for a few days a week, and spend time at home with him for the rest. My wife died before he was born, when our daughter was a teenager. She had a brain haemorrhage and was gone in two days – God rest her soul. So I raised Lovino, not an easy task if I do say so myself!

He was particularly fond of tantrums. His face would redden, screw up a little, his eyebrows would furrow menacingly, and he would roar, stamping and wailing. This happened on a weekly basis. But I did not take my daughter's approach. I know what she did: she would become upset and leave the room, rueing the day she birthed that boy. I know that when toddlers put on a show like this, they want an audience, and even though I stayed in the room I was never his audience. I would wait for him to scream himself out and work out what was wrong, why he was so upset. More often than not, it was because he felt abandoned. So for a year and a half, he had that one-on-one attention from me, and I like to believe that I improved him.

His mother would visit every weekend. Even if he had been perfectly fine during the week, when she appeared he regressed into a surly baby. She made no effort to repair _their_ relationship, even though she left her son to me to "save her marriage", as she said. But as time went on, her visits became less frequent. This was also around the time she became pregnant again.

My second beautiful grandson, Feliciano Vargas, was born on the same date as his brother, two years later. This was the first strike, you might say – on the day I had promised him cake and games, he was taken to the hospital to see a woman he strongly disliked (I don't like to use the word hate, regardless of what Lovino himself says) and a new baby who he must have felt, even then, to replace him.

My daughter turned herself around completely after Feli was born. She adored him! She told me over the phone, he hardly ever cries, he sleeps all day, he's so happy and sweet! She brought him over at the weekend and showed him off to me. Her husband had a better job now. They loved each other and their perfect baby, Feliciano. Forgive me Lord, but their happy family completely excluded Lovino.

It was a Saturday. Me and my daughter were sitting on the couch, she had Feliciano in her lap. He must have been about a month old, maybe two, and was giggling and gurgling adorably. Lovino stood in the doorway, his face a picture of utter resentment. His mother ignored him. I beckoned him over – Come on Lovino, come and see your baby brother! – but he shook his head and stomped off. Minutes later, he returned, holding his red plastic cup, full to the brim with water. He approached up warily, coming possibly as close as he ever had to Feliciano so far. I was proud of him for that. Then, slowly, deliberately, he poured the water into Feliciano's face.

Chaos broke loose. My daughter screamed, jumping up. Feliciano started and began to wail.

You horrible child! my daughter shouted, face twisted with rage, hugging Feliciano close. Lovino, looking almost bewildered, ran from the room. His mother burst into tears, rocking Feliciano. How could I have created that monster, she sobbed. I was going to fetch her something to dry herself and Feli when I heard a little cry of, Nonno! Ignoring my daughter's foul words against him, I went to Lovino. He was holding his bath towel.

I knew what he wanted. I went and took Feliciano from my daughter, and brought him to Lovino. Ever so gently, Lovino dried his little brother's face and hair. Feliciano didn't cry – just gazed up at Lovino. That was when Lovino realised, I think, that Feliciano was utterly innocent in this battle between Lovino and his mother.

Since that day Lovino has been the most protective older brother I have ever known.

Years went by, and it was just me and Lovino, plus Feliciano on Saturdays. Even though the brothers loved each other, I know Lovino was always jealous of Feliciano, because of his ability to be completely lovable. My Saturdays belonged to the younger boy, and Lovino always felt threatened by that. He dreaded the day that perhaps, every day would belong to Feliciano.

His fears were realised when their parents were killed in a bus crash that took the lives of sixteen others, including the driver. Feliciano came to my house, shared Lovino's bedroom, and took a place in my life – as a child to directly care for – that Lovino felt should be reserved for him only. He was five years old, Feliciano was three.

I decided for us to make the move to England during that summer. As much as she had put me through, my daughter was my last living relative aside from those boys, and I needed to get away from Rome. I had business partners here – now my good friends – and it was the best time for it. We moved, I enrolled Lovino in school and Feliciano in nursery, and I was able to start up a new restaurant with my friends' help.

Well, Lovino was never the most popular boy in the class. He had a little group of friends back in Rome, who almost worshipped him – his own little mafia, I might joke! – but it changed when we got to England. It didn't help that he stubbornly refused to learn English. I hate to say it, but he was the outcast.

Feliciano was the opposite, of course. The girls adored him as their pet, the boys treated him as a sort of entertainer, and it helped that he had the friendship of Ludwig, one of the best-respected boys.

Now, nothing really happened until Lovino got to high school. He always got average marks, but never participated in plays or sports, never won special awards. The other parents thought he was odd, and were shocked when they found out that he was the older brother of Feliciano. How different they are! they would say. Feliciano is so bubbly, so cheerful! And Lovino is... well.

Lovino was content to sit inside and read or doodle, or tend to the garden. That's one of his talents, gardening. He loves tomatoes, and I'm proud to say that he can grow them himself!

Anyway, high school. Now, in this school that I sent him to, every Year Seven is paired up with a Year Nine. You know, a friendly face to guide them around, help them with problems, a buddy. Lovino was given to this kid called Roderick, or something. Austrian, quite snooty if you ask me, and an overachiever to the point that he passed Lovino onto a friend of his, claiming that he had no time to buddy him!

Well! Rejected by a kid who doesn't even know him! But it didn't even stop there. It seems that Antonio, the friend, had a little fight with Roddy over who had to have Lovino after he first met him. See, my Lovi has a foul mouth – you already know this, probably – and it came as no surprise when his Head of Year told me that this whole thing started because Lovino was rude to Antonio. He told me this whole story, by the way. Lovino never tells me anything, he's so secretive.

So Antonio met Lovino, Lovino swore at him, and Antonio went right back to Roderigo and begged him to take Lovino back! And all the spaghetti hit the fan when Lovino overheard this. I remember that day, for sure: Lovino came home and barricaded the door of his room, and I could hear him throwing things around. He didn't come down for dinner. I thought it was because he didn't like the new school, but was sure he would settle down eventually.

He finally did, but that was because Antonio came and apologised. I think Lovino's forgiven him, but I know that he doesn't fully trust him. I can understand that.

You know, Lovino has the weirdest way of relating to people! It's as though he feels so uncomfortable with the idea of being visibly close to someone that he's rude to them to save face or something! Take me, for instance. He sighs and snaps and calls me stupid, but when I ask him to do something, he does it with a grudging respect. Also, take Feliciano. He has called that boy every rude word in existence and then some, but he's very protective.

Weirdly enough, he's polite to girls. There was this one girl in primary school, a lovely sweet Belgian girl who was so nice to him, who I think shaped his opinion of girls in general. He doesn't trust other boys though.

I think that's it for my Lovi. Wait, one last thing! I know that sometimes it might appear that I love Feliciano more than Lovino. Of course, any parent or grandparent could tell you that there is no such thing. I love both those boys equally, but I do pay more attention to Feliciano because he needs it. He's a weak boy, he needs reassurance and protection. If this is the case with Lovino, he hasn't told me, because he rejects every attempt at closeness. Believe me, I've tried.

Please find out what goes on inside his head, Doctor.

Wow, I've written a lot here! Was I supposed to write this much? Well, you did give me this much paper, so it can't be a bad thing! Next time I see you, I hope you can tell me what I can do to help my little grandson!

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_Inferiority complex is looking likely right now. Obviously Lovino has some bad memories of his mother, coupled with an anxiety about being abandoned – first his parents, then Romulus when Feliciano moved it, then Antonio._

_Will need appointment with patient before making any concrete decisions however._

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**Yeah, Roderich's name is misspelled on purpose. The last bit is supposed to be Dr. Koller's notes.**

**Reviews are always appreciated!**


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